


Things You Need

by codenamecynic



Series: The Hatesex Chronicles [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hate Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-hate, sex, and dubious motives.  Merrill/Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Need

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the kink-meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=36569982#t36569982

She knows he hates her. Real, actual hate. She can feel it in his hands where they grip her hip and the back of her neck; he has not even bothered to remove his gauntlets and the tips dig into her skin. Sometimes he makes her bleed, and she finds that funny. It is the only time Fenris ever looks ashamed of himself, and she is probably the one person who doesn’t care because blood is just blood and there’s a power in it the same as sex.

But he hates her and she thinks she just might hate him back. Merrill doesn’t feel that way about many people, but if there is anything you can learn from a demon it’s how to hate.

He never, ever looks at her face when he fucks her; it’s always from behind. She watches him in her mirror sometimes and he always turns his face away. It looks like it hurts, like it pains him, but he does it anyway and she lets him because, after all, it isn’t hurting _her._ Let him break himself on her body like a wave on stone; it costs her nothing and she is neither as helpless nor as innocent as they all seem to think.

She has dark hair like Isabela and pale skin like Hawke, and though she really resembles neither of them she wonders which one he thinks of when he thrusts himself inside her, muttering curses under his breath in a language he thinks she does not understand. He moves like he’s trying to kill her, like the weapon he wields is a blade and not flesh, and she thinks maybe he hates all of them equally, but probably not more than he hates himself. Isabela has left them, left _him,_ and Hawke has eyes for nothing but the Viscount’s vacant throne.

She might feel sorry for him, but Fenris makes it hard for her to want to do more than slap his face. It isn’t as though she hasn’t tried, comparing their ears and eyes and tattoos and their bare feet and the wildness in their souls. But Fenris isn’t elvhen, not really. He has a mind of metal, and metal is not fertile ground for planting seeds. She’s long ago lost hope for him, and now she only takes what he gives her because she can _use_ it. He fears he is a broken tool, a thing without use or purpose because Isabela no longer requires him to fill her nights, Hawke slowly replaces him with coin and politics and standing, and really she is only giving him what he really wants, even if he doesn’t know it. Even if he doesn’t understand.

He’s never terribly concerned with her pleasure, which makes her wonder whether or not he would force himself on her if she was unwilling. She thinks not – she doesn’t think Fenris is that brave. Still, it doesn’t matter; she finds pleasure for herself because she can and really why not – she’s already gone to this much trouble. He always finishes the same way, with a fist in her hair and the word _bitch_ on his tongue, and she is never sure which one of them he means. He hates all of them, or maybe he loves all of them; either way it is a slow destruction.

He has emptied himself into her and as all the blood leaves his cock all the rage drains from his face; it is the only time she knows him to be vulnerable, hands shaking, green eyes almost black, pupils dilated like a cat’s in the dark. There was a time she might have tried to use that, to pry him open and erode away the hard exterior like green shoots curl into stone and slowly pull it apart. Now she finds she doesn’t care. He pulls his pants back up and refastens his belt; she’s already waiting for him to leave.

Sometimes he seems like he wants to say something to her, but he never does. Her eyes are a mirror and he is always too afraid to look into them afterward. She doesn’t even have to ask him to lock the door behind him; he just does it now and really it’s better that way, because she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to work.

The Eluvian waits, the only thing in this city she can bring herself to truly love.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Things You Need](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946595) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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